


Watcher

by lookoutlovers22



Series: Well Aware: The Miniseries [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff, Character Deaths, F/M, Fluff, Old Age, draco malfoy is a softy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23908579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookoutlovers22/pseuds/lookoutlovers22
Summary: Draco and Hermione through the years.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Well Aware: The Miniseries [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1724506
Comments: 12
Kudos: 60





	Watcher

**Author's Note:**

> I did not reread this, so there are probably numerous errors and it's currently five in the morning for me right now and I really want to sleep now so I'm sorry in advance.

The first time they went to the library was the Wednesday after the weekend they got together. The library had been warm in contrast to the freezing temperatures outside, and Hermione rubbed her hands together to warm them up. She was looking forward to studying in the library again, as she hadn't been able to get more than a few hours worth of studying with Draco being in the house. That being said, it is rather curious that Draco was with her that particular day, if she was truly intent on studying.

They whispered to each other as they flit through the shelves, looking for the books they will need. Loving smiles on their faces, and heavy textbooks on the other. They bicker, as they always so, and then they smile shyly and laugh. Unfamiliar territory, their freshly minted relationship was something they had yet to learn the intricacies of. That day, they were smiling, no regrets and no mistakes yet made.

Seated at their table, they would cast sneaking glances to each other. They had not yet known that they were allowed to look at each other now, that they didn't have to look away anymore. But still they did, unable to fully concentrate on their work.

After a while, Draco reached for Hermione's hand and pulled it toward the other, encasing it in both hands as he set his chin on top of the intertwined mess. Hermione looked up from her texts, and grinned as he smirked.

"Malfoy—"

"Draco, darling. It's Draco now."

"Draco, I need to study."

"You study all the time."

"When you said you wanted to come to the library, I assumed we would be getting work done."

"We will be... but later."

"Give me my hand back."

"Let's take a little break. It's already been a few hours."

Hermione huffed at this, and he watched the way she rolled her eyes, still smiling.

On one memorable occasion, Draco had been able to sweep Hermione away to Malfoy Manor. He had the pleasure of showing her the various antiques and peculiarities in his home. He told her about his upbringing and showed her numerous priceless paintings dating from centuries back. She was enamored with the place, and she remarked more than once that it must've felt like he was growing up in a museum as a child.

He took her hand and gave her a tour of the numerous dining rooms and studies. He showed her the peacocks in their backyard and the glistening lake. He took her for a picnic in the sunlight in their well taken care of lawn (or one of the lawns anyway). Her hair shined copper, and his hair reflected white. She reached for his hand as they lied down and looked at the clouds.

She had looked beautiful then, and with his heart lodged in his chest, he took her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

That afternoon, after they had tidied up after their picnic, he met her outside her guest room and walked with her towards what would become her favorite place in the entire estate—the library.

He watched as her eyes shone with the excitement of a small child being brought to a toy store, saw her mind work at the speed of light, saw her try to comprehend the amount of first edition copies of books she's probably already read hidden in layers upon layers of knowledge in the large space. Saw her chest expand with happiness as she inhaled deeply, saw her hands going over the spines of books older than the shelves they sat upon.

They took out a few books and sat down on a table near a lit fireplace, and he saw her flipping through the pages of a yellowed old book with frayed edges, a crease in the middle of her eyebrows as her eyes moved at a rapid pace, basically inhaling the book. He allowed himself to stare this time, and then he put the book he was pretending to read down on the table in front of them—Hermione didn't even seem to notice.

"I love you." He said. He saw her eyes still, saw it when they shone over with confusion, and then realization, and then he saw the smile that broke through her face then. Saw it take over the lips he'd memorized with fervor, and saw her hands put the book down on the table.

He felt her hands holding his, saw them on top of the table and felt the slight pressure of her thumb going over his.

"I love you, too." She said, and reached over to him. He watched, transfixed, as she moved closer to him, nose to nose now. And then she kissed him.

Later that same day, when the light turned to dark, they swept down to the dining room nearest to the main sitting room. Dinner was served on the table, and Hermione met Lucius Malfoy. Draco's father was a strict man, who didn't appreciate nonsense and danced around jokes, his voice a creeping drawl and his hair well taken care of, cascading down like a waterfall. His mother was much the same, but more elegant and warm, a smile on her face as they approached them.

Hermione was stiff beside him, and Draco remained unsurprised of how well she kept the nerves he knew she was feeling inside. Still, he sensed this, and gave her a smile as he gestured at her to sit down, and pushed her chair in.

"Lovely of you two to join us this evening," spoke Lucius Malfoy in lilting drawl. "I am glad to finally meet you, Miss Granger."

"Yes, Draco has written to us a lot about you." Narcissa said. She smiled elegantly and gestured towards Draco. "Our son quite taken by you."

Draco felt his cheeks redden, and he watched as Hermione smiled gently and looked at him for a split second. Tearing her eyes away from him, she turned her head to Draco's parents and looked them in the eye.

"Yes, I am quite taken by your son as well."

He felt his heart beat louder in his chest, and the warmth spread through his body in waves.

Hermione would sometimes go to the library without him, and sometimes, when she is ill, he went to the library alone. Alone, they found that they couldn't concentrate. And, at times, they found the table to be cold and uncomfortable. They would go home after only a few hours then, not being able to stand being alone without the other.

Sometimes, they would fight. Mostly about petty fickle things, small things that turned into big things and turned into ugly things. Draco watched as little things turned ugly, as her cheeks turned from the freckled tan he knew to pink blotchy watercolor on paper. Watched her as she screamed at him for little things, fickle things that didn't really matter.

He felt the shout pulled from his throat, and saw the red spots on her cheeks turn brighter. He saw her eyes shine with fire, saw her anger and her beauty. He always saw her beauty.

The fighting escalated, and he saw it drop. Saw her anger fade away, until she was cradled in his arms, tears in both of their eyes. He felt the sorry leave his lips, and heard it from hers, all at the same time.

He felt the warmth in his arms and saw the top of her head shake as she sniffled. He muttered I love you's, and made sure he didn't make any promises he knew he couldn't keep. Her hands, laced through the fabric of his sweater, held on for dear life. And he held her tighter, and thought about the fight they just had.

He couldn't promise that they'd never fight again, but he could promise that he wouldn't lose her over petty fickle things, small little things, that grew ugly.

When Hermione exhausted herself from all of the coursework and extra research she did, he found her wrapped up in blankets on her couch in her living room. Sometimes, there is an orange ball of fur—Crookshanks—wrapped in her arms. Sometimes, a book might lay next to her or on the floor.

When Draco found Hermione like this, he carried her back to her room. Gently and quietly, so he didn't wake her. And after he lay her on the bed, he lied beside her and stared at her face. He counted the eyelashes that grazed the tops of her cheeks, and counted the freckles on her nose. And even in the darkness of her bedroom, he noticed her beauty and how the moonlight shined on her temple just so.

He kissed her there, and held her in a tight embrace as he fell asleep.

The day Draco Malfoy met her parents, he fell in love with her family as well.

Hermione bore a striking resemblance to both of them, he saw. Her family was not a wealthy as his, but their home was lovely and warm, and their hearts were full. He saw her hug both of them as soon as they opened the door, I miss you's being said and kisses being put upon cheeks.

He stood behind Hermione as her parents assessed him for a few seconds after their embrace ended. They smiled at them, and he noticed the apprehensive glints in their eyes, and what he saw as protectiveness. Draco expected this, so he was not surprised to see it but was still frightened nonetheless.

"Mum, dad, this is Draco." Hermione said. He saw the way her eyes twinkled with pride as she looked at him. He smiled back at her and looked at her parents nervously.

"Lovely to meet you, Dr. and Dr. Granger." Draco held out his hand for them to shake, and Hermione's mother swatted it away. Before Draco had the time to be confused, she has wrapped her arms around him in an embrace.

Hermione's father opted for a handshake, and he felt the firmness in his grip. A warning and a welcome all at once.

"My name is Helen, and this is Frank. Hermione has told us all about you." she gave him a warm smile and Mr. Granger did the same.

Later, after his bags have been put away and they have changed into more suitable outfits, they went downstairs for dinner. Draco came to realize that Hermione's parents weren't strict as he had expected them to be. He should've known that with a daughter like Hermione they didn't really need to be.

He listened to the steady flow of conversation around them, and watched as they ate and talked and laughed over Helen Granger's home-cooked meal, how smiles came easily to them.

He noticed how he was always included, and how easy it was to find his voice in the midst of all of the chatter.

After desert, he walked Hermione to her room and gave her a searing kiss. He whispered his love as she did the same, and watched her turn into her room after. He began to walk down the hallway down to the guest room, and looked up to see Frank Granger staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

"You truly love my daughter, don't you Draco?"

A little taken aback, Draco nodded and said, "Yes. I love her very much."

"It wouldn't surprise you if we told you that our daughter means the world to us." Dr. Granger stared at him, and he nodded.

"No sir, it would not."

"Let it suffice to say, that we trust you to take care of her." Draco blinked at him as he put a hand on his shoulder. "Do not break that trust, Draco Malfoy."

Draco blinked and felt his head nod.

Draco asked her to move in with him after they've been together for a little over a year. It wasn't much of an adjustment as Hermione lived just across the hall from him, but he found that his flat was warmer, and more organized. There was more color everywhere, and books—loads of books—lining the walls and on tables and in cupboards. He didn't like clutter, and he was grateful that Hermione was a very neat person.

He found himself watching her read on the sofa like she always did, and he always caught her singing in the shower on the mornings that she woke up earlier than him—which doesn't happen a lot. He always _always_ woke up earlier than her.

He made her coffees the way he knew she liked them—black with two sugars. He noticed that she always made him a hot chocolate when he was feeling sad, with three marshmallows, just the way he liked it.

He watched her read and reread his favorite Chuck Palahnuik book when she thought he wasn't watching. He memorized the way she blushed prettily the day he caught her reading _Damned_. 

They watched movies together every Sunday at nine in the evening, and after a while he settled into the routine of laying on her lap with her fingers in his hair.

Draco doesn't remember who started the fight, but he does remember the way that he almost lost her. He told her to leave and she stormed out of their living room and slammed the door behind her as he stood still on the graying carpet. He remembered the way his heart pounded in his chest and how he played the same scene over and over in his head until he found the strength to walk.

When he walked into the hallway Hermione was already gone. He remembered thinking that _this can't be it, this can't be how it ends, she can't be gone_ because he just realized how accustomed he had become to her constant presence. He couldn't _not_ make the damned black coffee with two sugars and he couldn't _not_ watch movies every Sunday at nine in the evening.

He tried to look for her for two hours, and he remembered not sleeping for two days. He remembered the chill that seemed to emanate from the walls of their home, and he remembered the books she left unread on the shelf from when she bought them two days ago and thought that surely she would come back.

He remembered how Pansy called him, saying that Granger called her and told her to tell him that she was fine. And Draco's heart broke into tiny little pieces on the tiles on the kitchen floor because she wouldn't even call him—why wouldn't she call him to tell him that she was fine?

He told Pansy that _okay, that was good to know, where is she?_ Remembered the way Pansy told him that she didn't know, she didn't know and she was sorry and she wished she could help and he remembered the way he hung up on her and cried and sat on the floor for hours and finally _finally_ fell asleep after he wished for the millionth time since she left that she would come back, that this couldn't be how it ends because it wasn't _meant_ to end.

He remembered the way he woke up to the feeling of hands on his tearstained cheeks and how Hermione had come back even when he thought that she wouldn't. She has come back and she was running her fingers through his hair as he cried into her lap and told her he was sorry over and over again and that she told him that she was sorry for leaving and he watched as a single tear fell from her eyes and unto his cheeks and remembered telling her that it was okay if she wanted to leave—it was okay, even though he really thought that it wasn't okay but he had just had a nightmare where they grew unhappy with each other and it was _okay_ because if he couldn't make her happy if she stayed then he'd be okay with her leaving.

Because he had to be... because he realized he didn't want her here if she didn't want to be. He realized that he needed her here, realized that he would never _ever_ be okay without her, but it didn't matter if he wasn't because it mattered that she wasn't. Because Draco watched and memorized and remembered and learned and realized things and loved _Her_. Loved her like the Earth revolved around the Sun, like the way that waves brushed along the shore. Because _it just happened_ and _it was how things were supposed to be_. 

He loved her.

So on the day that his wife died—sixteen days after her seventy-eighth birthday—he told her all of these things. He felt the grip on his hand tighten and then loosen. He looked into her wrinkled eyes as she smiled and then cried and then smiled again at him for what he knew would be the last time. Watched her lips as she told him again and again that she loved him, and that she was honored— _honored_ —to have been able to spend her life with him. And then he watched as she closed her eyes with a smile on her face, and he cried.

Draco passed away a few days after her funeral in his sleep. When he woke, he was nineteen again and so was she, and they danced in their old apartment to _Gimme Love_ by Joji, barefoot and in their pajamas on the graying carpet in the living room and then on the cold tiles in the kitchen as he wondered what he's ever done to deserve her in his life... and in the next.


End file.
